


Here's to Afters

by Kisnau



Series: The Final Apocalypse, As Decreed by God (not Metatron, that busybody) [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (if this is your first time here in this universe i've created omg hahahaaa), FOR THE LOVE/HATE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY/UNHOLY READ THE PREQUEL FIRST, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Other, ineffable ace idiots, man-shaped beings who use he/him pronouns but do not necessarily exclusively identify as male
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-03 00:43:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19452874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisnau/pseuds/Kisnau
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley face the rest of their existence together; this time, in the same boat.





	Here's to Afters

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how long these chapters will be, but likely drabble-style? I think I'm all plotted-out after that monster that was the prequel to this, ahahahaha~ But I like this world and the premise and the messy clean-up idea so... here we are.
> 
> WOO THE GO MINI-SERIES FINALLY CAME OUT. I about laughed at myself when I glanced at the prequel fic (intro in ch1) and saw I was looking forward to it coming out in 2013. Bahaha. Just six years off the mark~ 8'D ;;; Lots of ace and nonbinary vibes, though, so it was cool for me to experience the show on a deeply personal level. <3
> 
> ANYWAY. Updates will likely be sporadic! 
> 
> /i'm sorry but just fair warning i REALLY don't know what i'm doing rn posting this with no real plan in mind /sobs
> 
> : : :
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or events from Good Omens, written by Sir Terry Pratchett (RIP 2015.03.12) and Neil Gaiman. Please don't sue me. This is a fanwork, and I receive no money for doing this, only an author's creative satisfaction. :3
> 
> Reviews are always much-loved and appreciated and cherished, but never necessary.
> 
> Title: Here's to Afters  
> Chapter 1/?  
> Word Count: 2,159  
> Fandoms: Good Omens-Supernatural crossover world as detailed and defined in the prequel to this fic [a very few actual SPN characters will have screentime - if any, at all]  
> Author: Kisnau aka Kita Kitsune (call me Fox!)  
> Original Post Date: Tuesday, July 2, 2019

* * *

The past few minutes had been an adventure.

First, there was the explaining to everyone just who ‘Azar Afel’ _was_ , second, there was Aziraphale clutching tightly to his hand and thirdly there were the… kisses.

Aziraphale seemed to like to give them. A lot of them. Mostly on his cheeks, or Crowley’s shoulder, or other extremities. But that was nothing compared to how Trissa _squealed_ when they came downstairs and Aziraphale planted another affectionate kiss to the back of Crowley’s held hand, beaming up at him with the same face that’d never changed, no matter how much time Aziraphale had spent in Hell.

“Boss, you’re not wearing your sunglasses!” Crowley threw her a lazily content smile, squeezing Aziraphale’s hand in his. It was… almost nerve-wracking, not wearing them. He felt exposed, especially after millennia _needing_ to hide his eyes from the humans around them, to be accepted as one of them. Crowley was used to being hidden, his inner thoughts a mystery behind either spare cloths or, more recently, thin, darkened plastic. He felt bare without his barrier, but it was also freeing. Trissa was staring at him in amazement.

“A lot has changed.” Was the only response he could give her, along with a wink and an impish smile as Aziraphale dragged him out between tables flooded with the evening rush, towards the door and the Bentley on the curb beyond it.

It couldn’t be a hallucination. Not even in his wildest fantasies had Crowley considered God would get involved. But maybe, it made sense. Aziraphale had been Zaphiel, but God hadn’t allowed him to stay dead. Crowley’s memories of the Garden were a bit fuzzy.

Lost in his thoughts, Crowley realized he was driving the Bentley without really thinking about it; Aziraphale was still holding his hand over the steering column. He’d never been this affectionate, but… Well, they’d have to talk about Hell sooner or later, wouldn’t they? How Aziraphale got out, what it was like being locked down there with Lucifer for so long.

Aziraphale’s… lies.

Crowley’s memory of visiting the Ice five years ago was excruciatingly clear.

At least he never had to go back there. And not even God knew if they’d die, so that was something, at least. They were human now, but not all of Crowley’s awe-inspiring driving had been from his Hellish affiliation. He really _was_ just that good a driver; he’d made sure of it, being paranoid and prepared just in case his powers got revoked as a punishment, sometime. It made driving the Bentley now feel even more satisfying.

They did dinner, and didn’t talk about much; mostly just spent it eating and smiling like loons across the table at each other. They had a very good wine with dessert; a red, per Aziraphale’s preference. [1]

The evening was wearing on, stores were closing (as was Crowley’s restaurant) and the light pollution was settling into the late night sky over St. James’ Park.

The ducks were gone; tucked into bed with their flocks. At this time of night it was probably dangerous around here, but neither of them cared. They sat in silence, and in dimness only illuminated by the lamps set around the main path. Aziraphale was sitting on the grass in front of the bench, his clothes getting dampened by the moist air. Crowley didn’t tell him about it. He didn’t know when Aziraphale would talk about it; it was possible he never would. Then again, maybe Aziraphale was stronger than Crowley gave him credit for; maybe he was fine. Crowley knew he wouldn’t have been.

Hell was Hell for a reason, after all. He’d made enough demons and Fallen disgruntled down there that if they’d had him in their claws, they would’ve ripped into his soul and torn everything good out. Crowley would’ve come back a different man… -shaped being. But someone else was in charge Below now, and he guessed there was still some residual gratitude for helping be part of the group that sank Lucifer’s hope of Rising, once and for all. Maybe the new King of Hell did have some morals.

“I’m sorry I deceived you, my dear.” It broke the silence, even though Aziraphale’s voice was soft. Crowley paused for a moment, then leaned his head back on the bench, staring at the sky. He inhaled slowly, closing his eyes.

“Yeah.” He said, on the exhale. He heard a rustle of fabric against wet grass, and guessed Aziraphale had turned to look at him.

“I mean it.” Aziraphale insisted, and there was an edge of desperation in his voice. Crowley felt his throat tighten, and quirked a corner of his mouth to try and fight back the building urge to cry.

“Sure you do.” He said, in the same noncommittal tone as before.

Aziraphale was silent.

“Will you ever forgive me?” Aziraphale asked, then, gently. Crowley huffed a laugh and stopped it before it became a sob.

“Forgiving’s for angels. I’m from the demon school, remember.”

“Which means?”

“We _expect_ to be deceived.” Crowley said, flatly.

Aziraphale was silent again.

“But you’re not a demon anymore. And I’m not—”

“God can change what we are, but he can’t change our history.” Crowley snapped, cutting him off and standing abruptly, looking down at Aziraphale suddenly.

Crowley knew what color they were, but Aziraphale’s eyes just looked dark against the shadows of the lamplight. His heart clenched; yes, he must have a heart, now. They were both human, and Crowley was angry. He was _so angry_ ; for the deception, for the five years getting ready for death, for God’s meddling, for Aziraphale’s self-sacrificing martyr bullshit… He’d thought the angel was better than that. He’d thought Aziraphale had _understood_ why they had to do it together, why they always had to be partners, why they needed to be able to trust one another completely.

Crowley was angry because Aziraphale had taken that away. He’d burned that trust like a note in fire and it was gone, it was ashes, it wasn’t coming back. Anything new would be just that; it couldn’t be built on the old foundations. Aziraphale had _betrayed_ him; yes, to ‘fix it’, to do something ‘good’, to trap Lucifer, to win the war before it even started. Crowley didn’t care about any of that.

He’d lost track of how long he’d spent staring down into Aziraphale’s eyes from where the angel sat on the damp grass with St. James’ Park Lake sprawling behind him. It dawned on him, belatedly, that Aziraphale could probably see the anger in Crowley’s eyes.

Blessed lack of sunglasses.

Crowley set his jaw, straightened his neck, and turned to walk back towards the path. He heard Aziraphale hastily spring to his feet – slipping just a little on the grass, but not enough to fall – and follow after him. Soon they were walking astride. They passed the lamps in silence.

Crowley didn’t know how to fix things. His entire job, for 6,000 years, had been to _break_ things; wills, moral compasses, laws, and so on. Further, he’d never been simultaneously angry, sad and elated. Leave it to Aziraphale to be the one to get him here. Crowley ran a hand back through his hair, still looking up at the night sky. The lamps in his peripherals kept him oriented; sanctify it, it was _strange_ to not be able to see as well in darkness. It almost made him paranoid, knowing what could be out there and not being able to detect it, senses dulled as they were, now. Had this been the difference between them and the humans – better reflexes, senses, in addition to the powers?

Why would God even care to make them both human – what was his angle? Was it a _lesson_?

There was too much to be frustrated over, and about, and around, and… Aziraphale had stopped walking. Automatically, he stopped and turned. The angel was staring at his woebegone trainers, halfway between the last lamp and the one only a few paces in front of Crowley. There weren’t tears in his eyes, but the angel’s entire deflated frame spoke of guilt.

Crowley felt flashes of memory; Aziraphale cutting through humans with his flaming sword, Aziraphale vomiting after realizing what he’d done, Aziraphale smiling up at him before passing out on a cot.

Aziraphale had betrayed their old Arrangement; it was time for a new one.

Crowley strode over to him, stood before the angel, but before he could speak—

“It’s all right if you never forgive me.” Aziraphale started, promptly and precise. Crowley watched the angel squeeze his eyes shut and shake his head. “I had to do it. You would have… You would have tried to tell me not to—”

“I sure as Heaven would have.” Crowley cut in, angrily. “We’re a _team_. It’s not a team if you go off and decide you’re just going to take the whole weight of the world on your shoulders and—”

“It _wasn’t_ just for the world!” Aziraphale burst out, looking up at him, eyes shining; alternating light and dark, depending on the limited light. Then he hesitated. “I mean, yes, it was to protect it from Lucifer, but I didn’t…”

“Well, you certainly did _that._ ” Crowley said, tone flat once more. “In addition to successfully pulling one over on the only other entity that’s been in the same corner as you for oh, at least 20 years. More if we count before 1990. Do we count that? It’s hard to tell, you know, when your best bloke for millennia stabs you in the back.”

“I _didn’t—_ ” Aziraphale piped up indignantly, anger simmering in his face. “I would _never_ stab you in the back, not even when we were enemies, you _know_ that—”

“Do I?” Crowley accused, stepping close and into Aziraphale’s personal space, relishing the two inches he had over the angel. Crowley towered those two godforsaken inches over him, fuck it all. Aziraphale bristled, met his eyes with conviction.

“ _Yes._ ” Aziraphale’s gaze softened, slightly. “Because you know _me._ And I—”

“I _dare_ you to say you ‘know me’ after not even giving me a chance to say goodbye.” Crowley hissed, his eyes narrowed, but he didn’t lean down to intimidate even Aziraphale more. The words were enough; he saw them land, saw them shatter something deep in Aziraphale’s blessed, righteous _conviction._

“Crowley…” Crowley held up a hand to stop him, and turned back around, resuming walking towards the lamppost he’d been facing when they stopped.

“Don’t talk to me right now.” Crowley said, shortly, once he heard hesitant footsteps begin to follow him, again. “Just listen. Someone _knows_ how glad I am to see you, all right, but it doesn’t change _what you did._ I don’t know if I can trust you anymore. If you went behind my back for that, just for the reasons _you_ thought were good, how can I trust you? Why didn’t you tell me? Yeah, I would’ve stopped you; we would’ve found a better way _together_. Now, here we are; powerless and human, and five years wasted of a probably mortal life at this point.”

There was a long pause. When Crowley didn’t say anything else, Aziraphale tried.

“Are you angry at me because God made us human?” Crowley heaved an annoyed sigh out his nose.

“ _No._ Are you even listening to me? Being human isn’t so bad; it’s about the same, actually, just missing the perks. And the perks weren’t even all that great to begin with.”

There was silence as Crowley felt Aziraphale measure his words. Then–

“I’m sorry I deceived you.”

“I don’t forgive you.”

“All right. I just needed you to know.” Crowley chanced a look behind him, from the corner of his eye. Aziraphale was watching the lake as they circled slowly on the path around it.

He was angry; yes, at Aziraphale, too. But the world was better with Aziraphale in it.

They had traversed a good ways around the lake before Crowley offered a response.

“Don’t do that again. I need to know we’re on the same page, angel.” Aziraphale’s head whipped around, expression obviously buoyant with the use of the nickname. Crowley felt his ears get warm, and doggedly continued looking ahead. “I still don’t forgive you. But it’s better that you’re back.”

When Aziraphale reached for his hand, Crowley let him take it, and they walked like that back to the Bentley. [2]

[1] And Crowley still couldn’t figure out why the universe had decided that he liked white wines, but the (former) angel liked reds.

[2] Unfortunately, this was the time and place that Crowley would learn just how annoying meter maids really _were._ [3]

[3] To be fair, he’d never gotten so much as a parking citation before, and so his (over)reaction to _actually_ getting one could be seen as within the realm of reason, if one looked at it that way.


End file.
